Personal
by Mary Zrw2800
Summary: They became enemies from the first sight, and there wasn't a right word to describe their hate. But what if one of them would suddenly get out of the game? Attention: nasty speech and violent episodes.
1. Chapter 1

"FBI!" Booth burst out, breaking into the house of notorious criminal; "Christopher Pelant, you're under arrest!"

"Oh, God, what's now?" he rolled his eyes and lowered his legs from the table; "I didn't do anything, agent Booth. I'm afraid you've made a mistake again."

"Get up, faster," Seeley didn't want to endure his ludicrous excuses; "I'm going to listen it all during your interrogation, so please, just clam up, give me a favor, my head aches since the early morning."

Pelant gritted his teeth, screwed up eyes and bunched his fists, he even shook his head jumpy, but he embraced and let the agent clapped handcuffs on him. Amazing, he's held out a week without a new criminal record.

"You're mistaking, agent Booth," a spooky chuckle flew out of his mouth; "And you don't even understand, how seriously."

"What, really?" he mocked, pushing him forward the door; "Go straight, you, a damned hackerman."

"I am a hacktivist," the murderer corrected offendedly.

"I don't care if you're Hammurabi or what-is-his-name... Gilgamesh."

"Wow, you might be good at history with such great knowledges..."

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment."

Seeley got Pelant out from his house and put him on the back seat so proudly as an obedient dog that brought a stick to its owner. He closed the door brutally as usual in movies about cool cops.

* * *

"And what exactly did I do? Don't you want to explain?" Christopher said to the limit politely, when the agent got behind the wheel and fastened the safety belt.

"That's what I need to ask you," he snarled; "Think you can erase all the information, and it's in the bag? Christopher Pelant doesn't exist anymore? No, you've always been him and you always will be, and you're about to answer for your actions very soon."

"You're talking to me like a cartoon character," he laughed.

"Shut your mouth and don't make me angry," - the federal agent pushed the gas pedal, turned the steering wheel, and his car rushed forward.

"So rude," the criminal couldn't deny him the satisfaction of leaving the last word, although he really didn't going to sound confrontation. A thought that Booth would swerve into the highway at any time, stop somewhere on the sidelines and beat him half to death or deprive him all his teeth seemed unpleasant to him. It wasn't letting him say his prepared standoffish humor.

"And what allegations are waiting for me now?" Pelant gave up after a few minutes of silence. Ignoring was the worst and hardest trial for him.

"There're so much of them, trust me. Enough to go you to jail for a lifetime. But, honestly, I'm assured you deserve more."

"Want me to confess in a crime and get a life imprisonment? You know, to hell with this."

"As you wish. We have evidences anyway," he shrugged with a frank indifference.

"I guess I've heard it already."

"Go ahead, you have got a time until we arrive in the department. What, those beating wasn't enough?"

"Absolutely not. And what, that blowup you got from your boss afterwards wasn't enough, too?"

 _"Such a long-tongued asshole," Seeley muttered inwardly; "I'd like to choke him with my own hands."_

"You can be sure, Mr "computer brains", It's in the hands of grown-ups this time."

"Oh, we'll see.."

Grated his teeth due to the surge of anger, Booth has slammed the brakes rapidly. He has got really tired of his antics during those long years of fear and desperate struggle, got tired of his smirk, his soft voice ad nauseam, which doesn't sound pleasant, taking into account the personality of its owner. As a result Christopher hit his face on the drivers seat. He couldn't even do anything to avoid it because his arms were chained strongly behind his back, but nobody strapped him to the seat. And the agent didn't care about how many laws has he broken by his deed; his fury was requiring any kind of vengeance.

"Oops," he said with a fake regret, enjoying distorted by pain and a silent rage criminal's face; "Seems like my leg has come off by accident. What's a pity!"

"Nice try, let's count I appreciated it," the hacker smiled with efforts, swallowing his own blood that was draining to his throat from the broken nose; "It seems we are both feel comfortable playing between conventional notes. Turns out, I'm not the one who sins this way."

Seeley noticed the consequences of his deed, looked at him in the mirror, and he has mused for a while that maybe he crossed the line. A bit.

"I can afford it. In contrast to you, I don't play bloody cat-and-mouse with police."

"Is it my fault that I always win?"

This time Booth forced himself to keep silent, but Pelant who was hopped-up by a painful beat, didn't want to be packed in emotions and nasty jokes anymore.

"I hope that your behavior with Temperance is more acceptable. She'll never bear it if she knows what her man does behind her back, remaining without a control of her high heel."

Booth caught his breath, his heart started to beat faster. He grabbed the wheel, squeeze him as strong as he could, and after that exhaled nervously, letting all the oxygen out from his lungs. But, to the surprise of Christopher, he only stared at him through the reflection, showing this way all possible hate. The criminal answered on it with a wide eerie smile and after that he's gone silent and turned to the window blatantly, watching as they were riding fast along the highway. He had to throw his head up to not to let the blood running down on his clothes.

The weather was gloomy, stuffy, without a hint of wind; the sky was filled with dark clouds, but the rain wasn't predicted. Bright fresh greens made up a contrast to the boring gray asphalt. Cars were rushing past, motorcyclists with a frantic roar of engines were pulling ahead, and the entire right-hand lane was occupied by trucks.

While the hacker was looking at the picturesque view aimlessly, emotions within Seeley couldn't blow out. Not finding a way out, they were accumulating quickly, growing like a giant snowball, and someday this should've come to a limit. From now on, all the insults seemed more rude and offensive to him. Or rather, not so much offensive as deserving of an appropriate response. Before detention he's hardly slept and barely found a time to drink a strong coffee on an empty stomach in the morning, so that he had a bad day. And now he was just sure he would be changed with a "cruel beating in the car's interior".

"So, where are we going? Again in your lovely federal bureau of investigation?" Pelant asked without any shadow of his famous sarcasm, calmly and wearily a bit, not meaning a hidden sense or will to offend anyone, but exactly these words became a boiling point for Booth.

"Listen to me, asshole," he said it loudly and menacing, and by the reason of if the criminal got wide-eyed and even opened his mouth a little; "If you think you can get away scot-free, fuckhead, you damn mistake!"

"Hey, hey!" Christopher resented, but it was too late; "Don't talk with me that way! You don't have right."

"No, listen, listen to me, bastard," from now on, Booth has barely controlled himself. He was pushing the gas pedal automatically, while he looked at the hacker in the mirror or turned to him; "You've been killing people. People who served their country. And if there's a small possibility for me to achieve the death penalty for you, I swear you, I'll..."

"Watch out!" Pelant suddenly yelled, noticed in terror they skipped ahead the traffic light on the red signal and popped out on the lively junction.

Seeley has looked forward and put his leg off from the pedal, but it was impossible to avoid a tragedy: a long sound, typical for massive trucks or for similar cars, was heard somewhere from the left side, and after that was a powerful collision that completely knocked out the windows and crushed the corpus of a car mercilessly. There was a metal scraping and a shrill screech of brakes. The driver of the truck that has rammed the crossover at high speed, was desperately trying to stop the multiton vehicle as soon as he could, but it became possible to do only after tens of meters.

* * *

And all of a sudden everything went quiet for a moment. Time seemed to freeze, capturing in a cool air the petrified sights of everybody who became a witness to this horrendous crash. The traffic has been stopped, and a truck that wasn't overturned miraculously, crossing double white lines and closed several strips in a row, was going to create a traffic jam a few kilometers long. People immediately moved out to the sidelines, turned on the emergency signals on their cars, jumped out, grabbing the first-aid kits from the trunks, and rushed headlong for help to the victims. The hood of the jeep, deformed beyond recognition, was blowing exhaust, and its smoke mixed with a gray, gloomy sky, one of the wheels flew away far to the side. A billion fragments of the smallest shredded glass covered the place of the tragedy, fresh blood was spreading under them, but the ill-fated traffic light was continuing to blinking mockingly, switching to a bright green. Eyewitnesses were calling an ambulance at the same time, overloading the cellular line, the most brave of them approached the car and tried to find inside at least some signs of life. The driver jumped to the ground from the high cabin of the truck and grabbed his head: he was shaking, and his eyes seemed distracted, his sight couldn't focus on anything. His DVR has probably captured enough to deny his guilt in what happened, but it didn't make it any easier.

A few people have finally opened the door on the opposite side, not waiting for the ambulance, but not everyone could transfer what they've seen and, what is more, pull the bloody bodies out from the car until it blows up. Someone even had a gag reflex, which was quite normal in this situation. Precious minutes for the lives of both men were going by, and soon the lights of the ambulance, the police, and the long leisurely evacuator have flashed everywhere. But, despite the efforts of qualified paramedics and the best resuscitation equipment, one of the victims stopped breathing...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** sorry I haven't posted for long because of my preparation for the university;( Thank you very much for the waiting! Hope you'll enjoy it :)

* * *

"I forbid you to die!" there was a voice appeared from silence. This lovely and knowable voice that made you listen every word carefully. The man was trying to wake up, to escape from the void, but he couldn't: there was a deep darkness around him. He felt like under a steel unbreakable dome.

"Please, wake up," it was heard softly this time, almost whispering, with a little shiver and endless desperation.

"I love you," the darkness began to scatter, displaying the most unbelievable moments from life: her unforgettable laugh, warm smile and bright eyes in which everyone wants to look forever, so bright as stars in the night sky. And the kiss at least — the true apogee of boiling feelings; "I love you, do you hear me?"

But then all the sounds came together in an uncoupled noise, breaking those calmness and piece, images started to rush through the head rapidly, there was a flash light resembling car headlights a bit, — Booth finally opened his eyes.

* * *

An annoying beeping sound of life-support machine was filling the lonely hospital room, reflecting from the bare cold walls. Seeley had had a double vision for the first minutes, but it came back to normal over time. He looked around the empty room and after that he stared at the grey ceiling, listening his own heavy breath and trying to remember early developments. He saw the image of Pelant right in front of the eyes, his daring face that was created to be beaten. He could hardly bethink an arrest and some papercuts from their conversation in the car, and the crash. He kept in his memory only the loud sound of an approaching truck and "Watch out!" that was before the accident. Now his mind was being surrounded by painkillers and antibiotics.

Booth looked at himself, pulled up his head from the pillow. In a short, he didn't look good. His body was wrapped by bandages, bloody partly, the chest was also tied roughly, he had a cast on his arm and a C-collar on his neck didn't let him tilt his head. Every movement caused an unimaginable pain. And this pain echoed around the body including brain. Then Booth promised again he won't let Pelant avoid the justice.

"Oh my God, he's back! Please call for the doctor!" Angela said loudly from the corridor. She flew into the hospital room, dressed in a white robe and booties and sat on the chair, put her bag on her knees. Her face was shining "About time, he's back."

The federal agent didn't answer at first, just glanced at her tiredly and defenselessly, but after that he said quietly:

"What happened to me?"

"Closed head injury," Montenegro replied regretfully; "Plus three fracture on the left arm, dislocated vertebrae, broken collarbones and a rib hairline fracture. Thanks God it didn't impale your lung."

"Three?" he repeated patheticly.

"Surgeons had literally to pick it up the pieces," Angela nodded; "But you were very lucky that your spinal cord wasn't damaged and your legs didn't loose sensitivity. The most damage has been created in the rear of the car."

"For how long had I been unconscious?"

"About one day," she was keeping her worried eyes on him; "How did it happen, Booth, do you remember something?"

"Where is Bones?" Seeley behaved like he didn't hear her: questions was flying out of his mouth one by one.

"She's at home. She had been crying all night near your bed, you know, so you could seriously let her down with your death," she laughed consolatory; "I barely asked her to go home and get some sleep, but you can be assured she'll run right here as soon as she knows about your awakening."

The agent exhaled and closed his eyes, showed something that looked like a weak smile on his face. He'll cope with it, undoubtedly, and he will get back on his feet as he did many times. That's good that Bones won't kill him as she always threatens him in a point of his death.

"How's Pelant?" he questioned finally, carelessly; "I hope that ten policemen are looking after him at the moment in his hospital room."

"You know..." she dropped her eyes and sighed deeply, but there wasn't a hint of condolences in her voice; "He didn't survive."

"What does it mean?" Booth frowned like he didn't believe at all, as if she was fooling him.

"He died," she repeated; "Right on the scene. A broken neck — an immediate death. And after that a chest fracture, a lot of head injuries and so on, he got literally compressed because of a crash. In a word, he didn't has any chances to stay alive. So, what exactly happened?"

To hear that, Booth didn't feel nothing but confusion within. Though, it was quite easy to accept this fact, even glad, offensive that he'll never be brought to justice, but he'll also never take someone's innocent life.

"We rode along the highway," he screwed up his eyes, forcing his brain to work again; "And this conversation... Pelant was making me really mad all the time, deliberately, and..."

"He attacked you, right?" Angela broke in and continued, not waiting for his answer; "According notes written by Brennan, the bridge of his nose was shifted and it couldn't be a result of accident. Did you have a fight?"

"Emmm... Yup," he didn't mean nothing evil or sneaky at all. These circumstances just seemed to the agent more heroic than a bare truth: his negligence and impertinence.

His answer was quiet, but strong enough to sound real. And why mustn't she believe him? Booth isn't kind of man to make other people doubt himself even for a second.

"I'd been wondering about it!" Angela exclaimed; "I swear! He hurried to kingdom come all his life, so he was going to drag you down into the grave with him!"

She wanted to add something, when the doctor and the nurse rushed into the hospital room and asked her to leave politely. She nodded with understanding and promised Booth that she will certainly tell Temperance about his awakening and he will see her soon, and also wished him to hang on and don't give up.

* * *

His recovery was going pretty good: Seeley was provided with better medical conditions, and he's already returned to his favorite work a little more than a couple of weeks later, albeit with a bandage on his left arm. Unfortunately, his car wasn't valid for any exploitation after the accident, except for scrap metal, but he quickly found a new, more powerful and easy in driving. Brennan came to him every day and almost at the same time while he was recuperating from injuries, so the joke about the clock became boring. Booth didn't have to explain the situation to his wife again: Angela has done this before, by phone, and then she told the details as they walked along the corridor of the hospital. As expected, Temperance has reacted to the news of Pelant's death coldly and indifferently, but she tied to tear the place apart while her husband was staying in a hospital room. She was itching to start the criminal's autopsy sooner, but it didn't end successfully: her team and she didn't found any implants, hidden messages or something like that. Christopher took to his grave all his secrets including the information about where he kept those big money he stole from Hodgins.

* * *

"Welcome back, darling!" Booth planned to reach his cabinet invisibly, but Caroline detected him exiting the elevator; "Don't you imagine how we were worrying about you! And when you'll finally stop getting on our nerves with that!"

"One day, one day..." he almost song it and disappeared behind the corner.

He sighed deep and went into his own office, which he had missed incredibly, and then flopped down on the chair, stretching relaxed. His work day has just begun; very soon they will call with the next case and the hassle, endless interrogations, searches, all kinds of clues and suspects will start again, but there was nobody and nothing yet, so Booth decided to enjoy the free part of the morning. As it turned out, a lot of interesting things happened in the world during the time of his illness, and the agent was clicking on the news tabs on the computer monitor with such enthusiasm, so didn't notice the knock until it became more insistent.

"Yes, come in!" he took his eyes off the screen and froze, but then stood up fussy.

There was none other than the devil itself in front of him, and its name was Christopher Pelant. He was look so real he was alive indeed, an alive dead person: his neck was broken, resulting in the tilt of his shattered head. The dried blood painted his tied hair dark-red partly, flowing on his face. His arms were hanging, holding only on skin. They were almost turned inside out, fractured right as both legs, and his ragged clothes become crimson, getting naked all of the awful, serious injures on his chest. He'd been beaten black and blue, with heats, bruises and hematomas all around his body when his skin were pale as marble. Pelant was smiling with his eyes mostly, black because of blown up vessels, than with his blue lips.

"Hello again, agent Booth," his voice got low and raspy, scaring to hell.


	3. Chapter 3 In trouble

Booth didn't find enough words to answer. His power of speech has gone, and there wasn't no sound flow out from his mouth, just hysterical wheeze as if he was calling for help silently but nobody was hearing him, his desperate screams. He had a lump in his throat because of honest fear, so rough that he barely could breathe. Seeley leant against the wall and slipped down to the floor slowly, watching in terror Pelant's standing in the doorway motionlessly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he added finally and gave a look at his own hands and body; "I totally forgot."

Then Christopher averted his eyes, growling and grinning. Booth became a witness of impossible again: his bones have started to gather by themselves, his joints have got fixed and his wounds have cured without a trace. His neck's crunched, straightened out, and after that blood has rushed back to his head that was look safe and sound from now on. His skin was look normal again, his clothes clean and unscathed. Wide jeans, grey zip sweatshirt — he was absolutely like that Pelant Seeley saw last time.

"I guess, that's better," he exclaimed with his usual voice, getting to the agent closer: currently he has become pale as a corpse and felt faint, not being capable to move, with hysterical shortness of breath and a face twisted in horror.

"Are you going to hide here all day long? the criminal smirked, offered his hand; "If someone comes in right now they will think you're insane."

"I mean it, stand up," Christopher was repeating confidently, looking at the door over his shoulder; "You've just left the hospital, wanna come back? But I want to warn you, you'll get in the psychiatric asylum this time, not in a therapy hospital room with a TV, kind nurses and tasty food."

Booth didn't loose his hope that all of it is nothing but a crazy nightmare, wild and dreadful, that he's about to awake in his bedroom with his lovely wife, but things haven't changed: Pelant wasn't disappearing. Than the agent got back on his feet, holding on to the wall, crawled into the corner and draw his arms out as a sign of self defense — it was all possible that he could do. It was a bad idea to point the gun at him, after all. Anything you want but not a weapon was a thing that's scared him. Seemed like a gang shooting in a bank wouldn't give Seeley so much adrenaline as from the sight of a dead serial killer. The agent was still keeping silence: he didn't know what to answer. Words have flown away from his head, they were tangling, and hе didn't control his tongue whatsoever. But should he reply at all, should he talk with his own hallucination. Otherwise, it would be a beginning of the end, the end of his successful career and life he's used to have. Despite everything, Christopher was right in one point: Booth really has to visit a doctor again and draw his attention to his mental health and brain conditions.

"Oh, very hard case, I see," Pelant said ironically, clicked fingers near his face several times, and the agent was shuddering nervously every time .

"You..." he swallowed, focusing; "You're not real."

"Indeed? What a surprise! And whose fault is that?" the criminal pointed at him, staring.

"It's on you, too," Booth was objecting; "You should've hold your tongue."

"You should've look after the road better," he grinned angrily, steely, but suddenly turned over; "Damn, Brennan is coming."

He rushed to the door and stopped right in a few steps from the doorway, when Seeley dragged down on the chair wearily, holding onto the table top and trying to behave tranquilly, wondering what to expect.

"Booth, we've a murder. You wouldn't believe: a body was found in a container of the truck. Its driver had ridden a couple of districts with a killed man right into the boot and he didn't even imagine that. So, remains are totally damaged, there will be a lot of work. And why Angela couldn't contact you?"

Temperance reached the the table and leant at it, without paying any attention to Pelant. This only confirmed his alarming guesses that he had serious problems. He frantically grabbed the phone in his hands and found there a few missed calls from Montenegro, which, apparently, he didn't hear because of his panic.

"Sorry, silent mode," he said quickly, grinning forcefully; "Something relevant?"

"Yes, not really ... Are you allright?" she worried, noticing his pale face and a quick look; "Maybe you should stay at home for a few days?"

"No, no," the agent waved his hand, leaning back and glancing at Pelant from the corner of his eye; "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

Christopher was watching Brennan astonishingly and desperately at the same time: she couldn't see him, he was invisible to her, just a void. Then the criminal came closer to her and, standing behind, lowered his hands onto her shoulders with a little confusion. Booth got nervous immediately and even took his breath, trying not to stare at Pelant viciously and menacing, because Brennan could easily take it personally. But the woman frowned dissatisfied and shivered slightly like she was feeling cold.

"Is your air conditioner working at full strength?" she asked, looking for a thermostat in the room; "You'd better to turn it off to not to catch an illness."

Booth nodded obediently as a china doll, and the villain suddenly stagered back like a boiling kettle, glancing at his palms.

"So, we have to start right now, okay?" he explained with a fake look of a tough guy, and Pelant crept up to Temperance again, more determined, this time literally embracing her.

"About fifteen minutes, I bet, we need to pack all our stuff and... Oh my God, there's so cold here!" she expressed an irritated voice, pulling in even more and rubbing her hands; "You'll get ill - I've warned you, you'll be making tea for yourself."

With these words the woman turned around and went out extremely effectively, taking with her some documents and ordering her husband not to be late. When she was just out of sight, Christopher has sat down on a chair beside, saying with his eyes: "Did you see that?!"

"What a hell are you doing?" Booth banged against him, he almost blew up; "Listen, I don't care about are you alive or not, but stay away from Bones."

"Or what?" he was smirking; "Okay, calm down, I won't harm her, I promise. To be honest, I haven't got outside of this afterlife mechanics yet."

"And how did you do this?" Booth questioned with genuine disarray, coming to terms with criminal's staying and with his own madness, too. He didn't has enough forces to resist anymore.

"What exactly?"

"You touched her, but you're just a hallucination. That's weird."

"What are you talking about?" Pelant was opposing, he chose his favorite technique: to look like an idiot; "Turn the air conditioner off, even I'm feeling cold."

"But it is!"

"What makes you so assured?" he nodded at the machine, and it was really working at maximum. Indeed: he completely forgot he switched it on one hour ago. Another fact forced the agent to worry about his health more than before, although it would seem there's nowhere else to go.

"That's enough," Booth replied flatly, rubbing his eyes with his hands; "Today I text my doctor about a next visit."

"Why's that? You're as sound as a bell. They'd haven't discharge you like this."

"Very funny, nice job. I interpret my anxiety special for you: I see a dead and bloody irritative serial killer right opposite me, the murderer who's more pain in my neck than in life.

Pelant laughed, and his face began more narcissistic than before.

"And after that you're telling me I'm as sound as a bell."

"Wanna proof it — come on, let's go, waste your time," the hacker shook his head; "I'm not going to change your mind, sweetheart. But you won't open anything new, trust me."

"And why did you get so jumpy?" he exclaimed so unkindly and hardheaded that Christopher gazed at him as if he really was crazy; "What is it to you?"

"Actually you're the only person here who's jumpy, Seeley," a precise observation; "Sorry I've got on a first-name basis, you mind? I don't see a sense in calling you "agent Booth" anymore."

"As you wish. Hey, you're quite good at medicine, aren't you? So tell me, am I in trouble?"

"Em... How do I put this delicately..." he scratched the back of his head embarrassing; "You're talking with a dead person. But here's a little hint — the problem isn't in your brain."

"And where is it? Who are you if you're not my hallucination?" Booth asked and froze for a moment, encompassed by a shining idea. He opened the crate carelessly and started to delve into it, finding special pills he've begun to take recently at the insistence of his doctor. Christopher leaned forward and was watching him with curiosity.

"I found it!" the agent said loudly, shaking a dark vial into his hands, then he brought it closer to his face and launched explore the chemical ratios; "It must be a stuff in these pills that makes the temporary insanity."

"Let me take a look," the criminal extended his hand forward interestingly and, as soon as he took the phial, announced the small designations of different drugs written in small print, the meaning of which was understood only by himself; "There's atropine here. Yes, you're right, it can cause glitches, but you should eat a whole batch at once for this. So it's faster to die from an overdose than to wait for the effect."

"Okay... Well," the man mused on fall to thinking, but cheered up again; "That's it! I know! You're just a figment of my imagination."

"Wow, sounds impressive," Pelant said, squinting sneaky; "Something like an imaginary friend, you want to say? Oh, no, wait, an imaginary enemy," he laughed at his own joke.

"Correct!" Seeley pointed at him; "So obviously! Just look at yourself: you're different now, not that Pelant who was in his lifetime. You're that Pelant I want you to be, understand?"

"Me? Perfectly well. And you?"

"Clearly," he lied.

"So, good, the question is over," Christopher put his arms up innocently; "I won't argue with you."

"I've to face it, your death impressed me too much," Booth gazed at him selfishly and brutally.

"Should I stand on my knees in front of you or what?" he snorted and crossed his legs; "You know, you think much of yourself."

"You're one to talk."

"I behave especially like your finished mind wants me to, remember ? I'm nothing but a figment of your imagination — your words."

"God, why I deserve this punishment, why?" Seeley stuffed his face and laid at the table, being exhausted from the pointlessness conversation; "And what am I supposed to do now?"

"Are you asking me? Ask yourself at first."

"That's exactly what I'm doing right now, huh. Just shut up."

Undoubtedly, he needed a minute of silence to rest and to decide how he can deal with it. _But can he?_


	4. Deal?

Pelant's staying wasn't scaring Booth anymore, it was annoying him, getting on his nerves and cheering him down. During the last ten minutes he has got sick and tired of their dialogue more than he did after a four-hour interrogation with extreme prejudice. He didn't care who was Christopher in that moment: his hallucination because of the head injury or as a result of pills' effect, but, maybe, he was just a psychical disorder, — he started to drove Seeley nuts as he usually did. The agent remembered movies he watched about psychopaths with shizofrenia, about this torture for everyone and all consequences from this terrible disease. It breaks happy families, turns them to dust. The shadow of the doubt was boiling inside him, mixed with anger and the willing to resist. It was look like he didn't believe himself: one part of him was trying to explain to his consciousness that his doing are not good, just loathsome, by the time another one was forcing itself to find any innocent possible explanation of what's going on.

"It can't happen with me", such a simple blank phrase that consoles millions; "With everyone else, but not with me."

Remembering his past sinister experience: a war, wounds and surgery operations right on the battlefield, he lead himself to the conviction that there's no guarantee that the crash wasn't a trigger to the mental illness. And what will he do if he needs to share his own mind with a dead serial killer for all his future life? "To put the gun to the head and pull the trigger. That's solution," gloomy and eerie thoughts was appearing in his brain, but it was too early to make so tragical decisions.

"What? Are you already dreaming about to get rid of me?" Christopher said after a long silence, has identified the root of the problem precisely. His voice became full of hatefulness and offense, he got upset; "So, you did it, my congrats. You won this game, Booth, our game of survival. What else do you want now?"

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Booth muttered, averting his eyes, as long as he leaves him alone.

"Go to Hell," the hacker answered nasty and turned away; "I don't give a damn about your apologies."

"And what of it? Are you still going to accost me?" Seeley stood up from the chair rapidly, took his coat off from the hanger and headed to the first floor, out of his cabinet; "But it's so so boring, isn't it? You like to make fun of everyone with different ways, until you will suck all the blood."

"Absolutely right," Pelant nodded with a spooky smile and composure; "But what makes you sure I hang around you without a purpose?" there was a silent, but an evil laugh.

"What are you talking about?" the agent smirked unbelieving and looked at him over his shoulder, but he shut up instantly: there was nobody in the room. He closed his eyes toughly, blinked several times and gave a glance again — still nothing. There was not a soul around. Neither alive nor dead.

* * *

Booth went to the underground parking, turning around all the time. Every shadow of a random person was seeming to him oddy, suspicious, every loud pace bothered him utterly, but he was striding forward, hiding his palms into the pockets, without understanding what's happening with him: doctors made a complex medical examination of his brain before they discharged him, and it was pointless to call into question their knowledges. Strangely enough, but the more he thought, the more he got assured that Pelant, turned out, tell him right, useful things. Even he'll visit a doctor again — it'll be only a psychotherapist. A psychiatrist, correctly, and there's not far from the suspension, from the mental hospital, taking into account his serious problem. Seeley anticipated for a moment like he's entering the room with relaxing interior design and a quiet music, like he's sitting on the soft leather chair, crossing his legs, closing his eyes, enjoying the smell of aroma candles, and as he's telling the specialist: "You know, I see a dead serial killer in front of me, who behaves himself like an asshole." And after that he imagined only a straitjacket on him. Who knows, maybe it was just an isolated case and it never happens again. To keep calm and to muse rationally — there were several very similar and frankly strange situations on the agent's memory. However, there was no doubt left after them: the reason served either narcotic drugs — morphin, for example, or a strong blow to the head. If to assume Pelant had come to him due to the second occasion, one misguided snag was appearing instantly: too much time passed right from the moment of the accident, and he woke up after anesthesia long enough, but things like these didn't happen in the hospital.

Temperance has started the car's engine already, riffling in the glove compartment in parallel, and, despite all her husband's arguments and requirements, didn't cede him the steering wheel. They didn't have to ride for long: about a quarter of hour among the city streets, and then ten minutes straight through the small private districts.

"Do you understand you could die? Why did you go for all alone? You didn't even tell me about your dangerous plans," Brennan broke the silence and sighed desperately; "But you've had enough information about who Christopher Pelant is and how unstoppable he is. He _was_."

"I understood it clearly, as I did last times," Booth dropped his eyes guilty, but after that he looked at the window, astonishing streets full of crowds which had annoyed him recently. He was listening the noise, fuss. However, he was happy to see and hear that for now on. He was happy to be alive, to realize he can breathe, feel, speak, that he's able to move, to work, but what's the most important — to love and to be with the person he loves. Would he seriously be dead at the moment?

"Do you know you were almost fired?" she said, continuing to watch the road.

"Fired? Why's that?" Seeley got nervous and crossed his arms on his chest.

"By the reason of the crash, of course, if it was totally on you," Brennan was explaining wisely; "But so Pelant attacked you, and you was only defending yourself from the menace, because of what you lost control, you was completely justified."

"Thanks God," he ended when he heard resentful: "Liar!" somewhere behind him.

He looked in the rearview mirror rapidly — nobody, but it was impossible to mix up that voice. However, there was only two people in the car.

"I was so scared," Brennan brushed her hair over her ear; "When they informed me I had thought you died."

"Yeah, me too," Seeley replied severely and raised his eyes on his wife; "And for the most I was afraid I can never see you again."

She smiled wide, blinking fast with her eyes wet from tears, as she couldn't dare to ruin the makeup before their conversation with possible suspect. She will have time to cry if it'll be necessary. She can do it at home — in the only place she can afford herself to seem weak.

"You've driven her to tears. Well done," the voice behind his back appeared again, but now Booth clearly noticed its owner.

He couldn't answer him something, but the willing to response and to erase this victory grin from his face was eating him alive. The agent grabbed his phone and started to click on the keyboard. Pelant was watching him right through his shoulder.

 _"It's tears of joy, you stupid!"_ — it lighted on the phone screen.

"So what? You're a liar anyway," the criminal laid back, fitting his knees between the seats with effort; "And yep, it's such a genius idea to use your phone to communicate to me without paying any attention. Have you thought about it for long, bastard?!"

 _"Look who's talking! The saint,"_ Seeley tapped this phrase and gave a mad glance at him, but he recovered quickly and added: "What else did I have to do?"

"Hmmmm... I don't even know. Really. Maybe you should've told everyone that somebody from FBI overstepped his authority?" Christopher said mockingly, making as positive intonation as he was capable; "Or about the agent who cannot drive a car. People teach you to look at the road in primary school. But don't take it personal, it's a random example."

 _"Are you finished?"_

"Yes."

 _"So just get lost. GET OUT OF MY LIFE!"_ Booth was tapping on the keyboard so psyched that Temperance began to keep an eye on him.

"So rude," he put his hands on his tips; "Okay, I'll leave you alone, I promise, but... I want you to do one little thing for me at first."

The agent froze, petrified to the narrow of his bones, not hurrying texting a new message. Things went worse, his own mind desided to make a deal with him. Unbelievable.

"While you're uploading this information, let me go ahead," Pelant joked; "And when you stop doing mess I tell you an address where you have to go. Deal?"

 _"Deal,"_ his endless curiosity and principles got the best of his common sense, and before he could finish his message, Brennan couldn't hold herself and interrupted her husband's dialogue:

"Who are you chatting with?"

"It's about work, there's nothing to worry about. Just employees have lost the documents. Not breaking news, actually."

Temperance smiled trustingly, pretended like she really believed him, while she was still watching him carefully. Everything could be quite normal if Booth wasn't texting in Notes app.

 _"So, tell me the reason why I have to go anywhere you order me?"_

"Oh, I have even two. The first one is that you will never see me again. It's temptingly, isn't it? The second is there's something special in that place you want to know about."

 _"What is it and why are you so assured I really wanna dig it deeper?"_

"That would be telling, wouldn't it? But keep a little more patience," he was teasing him by intention, knowing well that his relentless interest and his need to prove something to someone are the soft spot of such a strong man as Booth; "You'll see when you reach it."

 _"And, wait... Doing mess? What a hell does it mean? We've a homicide here, by the way."_

"Come on, it's not a homicide at all, just an accident. The guy killed himself through negligence."

 _"But where did you get this information if you're only my..."_ Seeley didn't end the note because he understood he couldn't find an excuse for this.

Suddenly Brennan's phone rang, vibrating inside her bag, and she asked her husband pleasantly to give it to her, so she didn't have to distract from the road. Booth found the mobile with unimaginable struggle and held it to his charming wife, has glimpsed at the screen at first: Cam was calling. At the start Brennan was agreeing with her boss, nodding, then she answered that they've almost arrived at the specified place, and after she pouted disappointingly, exhaling with words: "Okay, transport him to Jefferson. We'll mark it as an accident."

Agent felt shiver.

"We're coming back," she lowered the speed, finding the nearest junction; "Criminalists were wrong, it's not a homicide."

"Indeed?" Seeley questioned, although he knew what will the reply be; "So, what is it?"

"Angela cooperated with another districts and got important and useful videos from cameras. Our victim ignored safety rules. A couple of days ago, while he was filling the truck, one of the containers didn't close by no reason, and, risking his life, he went inside end began to yank the preventing plank," Brennan was telling interestedly; "But that plank was nothing but basis for all heavy construction. And as a result it fell down and pressed him to death. He remained inside, dead already. There wasn't somebody around, and other loaders just packed the rest weight, thinking that our victim's shrinking his responsibilities," she laughed with sympathetic; "What a dumb way to die..."

"Yeah, dumb way..." he tried to hide his dyspnea.

"Wow, look, I was right!" a shouting in the back; "I was just kidding, but it came true."

 _"Kidding? Seriously?"_ Booth felt like fear began to capture every cell of his body, of his mind. But he didn't know what exactly he was afraid of, this awe had no reason. Panic attacks didn't follow him before the crash. Needless to say, he didn't have any mental problems until he survived the accident. One thing he could do — it's to pray that he really would control it.

He locked his phone and put it back in the pocket, entirely ignoring Pelant who was hollering him diligently, but, in the end, he got tired of it, gave in, sighed dissatisfied and disappeared in the air.


	5. Chapter 5 The best way to hide

"Have you solved the problem with documents?" Brennan asked finally; she decided not to comment his strange behavior so far.

"Yes, it's okay now," he sighed, calming himself down; "And didn't anybody figure out that they had to watch cameras at first. No, they called us, Homicide. Hey, would you like to go somewhere after work?"

"And where would you invite me?" Brenna smiled mysteriously and moved her eyes aside.

"Anywhere you want. You know, there're so many places nearby where we can taste incredible honey waffles!"

She laughed and she was going to accept his invitation, when they both heard the phone sound in the car. But it was a message this time, and it was sent not to Brennan. Booth took his mobile and looked at its screen indifferently, but then he's suddenly frowned and rubbed his nose bridge: the number was unknown, and he saw an address in text message.

"God, what did I involve myself to?" Seeley mused, tapping on the lightening icon. The mark _"Read"_ , appeared immediately in the corner of the screen.

* * *

"Maybe, you tell me where exactly are we going?" Booth left Brennan near Jefferson, referring to the one sudden and urgent problem that he had to immediately manage by himself. He promised he would necessarily tell her about everything right after it would be done. So, he bought some time for thinking about his lie.

Nobody answered him. There was empty inside of the car, quiet. And he was talking with this silence, staying completely assured that Pelant hears him and he's just kidding.

" _That's_ _it_!" he was discussing inwardly; " _I'm hashing things out with my own hallucination"._

"Now I turn the car and go back, do you understand?"

"I thought you hate talking with me," the criminal said ironically, appearing right next to him, on the passenger seat; "Wasn't you going to play the sceptic? We? Well, that's an unexpected turn. Did you finally adopt my staying?"

"Not every time we do what we really like," Seeley answered seriously; "And this insane cooperation with you is the best exit, because you'll leave me alone."

"That's right."

"What address you sent to me? And take into account that I don't even ask you about how did you do it."

"You'll enjoy it," he smiled, looking at him with a frown.

"But if I won't?" the agent laughed nervously.

"Don't argue with yourself. I said you will enjoy it."

"Okay, let's see, but I want you to know that nothing stopping me from kicking your ass if you're going to get me runaround."

"I'm frightened to death," Pelant answered with a fake shudder and chortled; "You couldn't catch me while I was alive, so now you certainly wouldn't. You'd better drive the car and don't distract, otherwise it may happen like last time."

Booth drove his attention to the road, glimpsing at navigator that was showing the route through the lively districts. He was there before, seldom, about few times. But he didn't imagine where the address could lead him.

"Was it painful?" Booth asked humbly, keeping watching the track.

"Excuse me?" Pelant was distracted a bit and didn't comprehend the question.

"Was it painful? To die."

"I knew you would ask me," he smiled peacefully; "But I'm nothing but your..."

"Just answer," Seeley insisted, staying unchanged at his facial expression.

"No, it wasn't, if it consoles you. I barely understood it. I remember the noice, the crash and after... just a void."

"I don't care at all," he snarled suddenly; "I was just wondering. You deserved it. How many people did you murder, huh? But how torturous you had been doing that... Not every person can invent these perversions."

"They were suffering so hard," Pelant dropped his eyes, thinking: he was recalling all of his victims; "They were begging me for mercy, screaming, sobbing. Such a disgusting view. But I died quickly."

"There's your selfishness. You had always known that there's no life for you after you deeds, and you had been finding an immediate death to you while you was getting the others tortured, understand?"

Christopher sat silently.

"You don't have to answer. I'm more than assured that you do. And that's why I feel angry and guilty. Not because you died, but because you died so painlessly."

"The death penalty is quite humane, too," the criminal objected; "Injection that paralyzes your heart. By the way, there's a paradox: what for people sterile any equipment for it and wipe the criminal's arm with an antibacterial fluid?"

"You want to say, you had been cutting your victims with a dirty knife and without the gloves?" another question.

"But I did it for atmosphere," the killer was excusing; "It made me high."

"You sick scumbag. You know, you're not real. Pelant would never talk about his murders like that, even after his death. Because he's convinced that he's completely innocent. He was convinced."

"So, in your opinion, he can't be normal at all? Even a small part of him," it sounded from the passenger seat.

"He was a crazy psycho," the agent snorted with aversion, wrath and enmity; "There was nothing left in his head, except maniacal obsessive ideas. I don't realize who are you and what exactly do you represent, but you're not him. However, it's tolerably to talk with you. Much better than with him, although, I have never had a long conversation with him. He was incorrigible, and there wasn't any another exit for him. So many people had dreamed about suffocating him by themselves, and I wasn't an exception... I'd wished I could shoot his head for all mischiefs he caused."

A nonexistent passenger was looking at him for a while as he was waiting for the next dirty phrase, but then dropped his disappointed eyes again and didn't say a word until the end of the route.

"Looks like we've reached our destination," Seeley stared at the navi screen; "Yes, correctly."

Having stopped his car and looked around Booth suddenly fixed his view at the huge apartment that was noticeable among the others by its posh and charming look. The house was built according the old style: with concrete columns which decorated the front facade, with wide windows and banisters made of stone. The land around it was clean and nice-looking — a lawn with decorative trees divided the estate from the road.

"Oh. My. God," Booth said, viewing astonishingly; "And who's living there?"

"Nobody anymore," he shrugged.

"And who had been living..." he was going to question, when his mind shielded with the charm of magnificent house returned back to work, and he stared at Pelant, having opened his mouth in confusion; "Wait... You wanna say it's your house? The second one?!"

"Emm..." the criminal smiled sheepishly;

"It's your house!" he exclaimed this time, getting out of his car; "I can't believe! It's a real estate! Where's the keys?"

"In my pocket," Christopher opened the car's door, but nothing more.

"So?"

"In my pullover's pocket."

"So what?"

"Surely you can see the problem? Now you're standing alone, I'm not exist, let me remind you. So enlight me, how can I give you the keys? As for me, you often forget you argue with yourself," he threw his hands up, and Seeley stuffed his face and howled tiredly:

"Jesus, you're completely pointless."

"Are you sure? For instance, I know the alarm code," a wide selfish smile reflected on his face; "If you can turn it off, you'll be able to kick the door down."

"To kick down? Is it necessary?"

He was hesitating because he didn't want more problems from observant neighbors. 'Special agent Seeley Booth robs houses in the well-funded district' — such a great article for report. Besides, he hadn't got a warrant, so after he would have to explain everything of this stuff to police, but it would going to be a pain in the neck.

"Don't worry, I won't testify about you for your unlawful entry. I swear."

The agent came closer to the door and noticed a small panel near on the wall. Despite the fact that his staying here wasn't explainable with logic, he'd tried to suppose how he could know about this house before and where he could hear the passcode which Pelant was about to tell him. It's obvious: if Christopher exists only in his mind, that means that any information is said not by him — it's Booth's memories, all he can find into his head. Reportages from news, fragments of papers' reports were running to and fro inside him, but he still didn't bething needful information.

"And how usually did you stay here?"

"Quite often. Three times a week, or more," Christopher sighed nostalgically; "Come on, turn off the sirens."

As Seeley assumed, it was the first time he heard the passcode. Besides, that combination was difficult to memorize at once, but he stopped surprising by then. Despite insistent persuasion to kick the door down, he decided that it would be easier and safer to damage the window than to bump his shoulder on the piece of wood. He broke a the lock on the window-pane, and during that time the criminal was irritating him, calling him the vandal and telling that he would bill him if he was alive. Booth easily raised the window to the top and jumped inside eagerly, immediately directing his eyes to the high ceiling with beautiful massive chandelier from the nineties.

The interior was no less impressive than the finish outside. In a word, the exterior of the house completely justified itself: wooden floors, expensive furniture, modern appliances, which got the guard of law and order mad.

"You were forbidden to have any electronics!" he said, reaching the large plasma screen on the wall; "Just look! And we wondered how could you operate! The best way to hide is hiding in plain sight..."

"See, there's no miracles. Everything got an explanation."

"Why did you bring me here?"

Seeley totally got lost. Tension, curiosity with a hint of suspicion - all this stuff crashed onto him like an unstoppable avalanche. He joked and showed sarcasm, but this situation was scaring him to death. It would terrify everyone who count themselves fine in terms of mental health, because all the things that happened in the last few days were odd, and people are tended to be afraid of everything they can't understand and prove scientifically.

 _He wished so hard it would be just a nightmare._

"I just thought..." Christopher sighed uptight; "I was... I mean, Pelant was quite extraordinary..."

"Yeah, needless to say," the agent noticed that there was no photos in his house. Books, CDs, handmade wooden chess, but not photos.

"And many secrets of his life left untold after his death," he continued, running his finger around the table covered with dust: nobody appeared here since the criminal died; "Secrets that people like you want to know. So, all of them remain in this estate."


End file.
